Midnight Show
by murderofonerose
Summary: Ford had finally invited Arthur to come and see a play. Ford/Arthur
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: **Contains slash

**Pairing: **Ford/Arthur

**Words:** 806

**Disclaimer:** Is it really necessary to point out that I am not Douglas Adams? Is that what people really need? (I'm not even English and I don't even look like a Douglas.) Also, I do not endorse drunk driving or letting Ford shout out directions.

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**Midnight Show**

* * *

Ford had finally invited Arthur to come and see a play. He wasn't actually in it, and he didn't actually known any of the actors, but it was a play all the same.

Unfortunately, it had been a particularly boring play. Arthur had managed to stay awake through the whole thing, but only by virtue of the fact that Ford fell asleep and kept half-waking up to attempt a slightly more comfortable way of laying his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"Come on," Ford said afterwards with a yawn, "I need a drink to wake up."

So they went to a pub. Some time later they wandered back out of it and located, with some difficulty, Arthur's car.

"Prob'ly shouldn't be driving," Arthur muttered as he fumbled getting the keys into the ignition for a second time. Then he finally managed it, and the thought was forgotten as he grinned. "Third time's lucky." This sent Ford into fits of laughter as they pulled out of the otherwise empty car park, because he'd never understood those kinds of sayings.

Arthur drove a little faster than he might have done completely sober, but it was late (or early) enough that there was no traffic and he forgot to let the nasty statistics worry him. All the windows were rolled down and Ford was singing wildly and badly into the wind and somehow that more than made up for the terrible play.

"Turn," Ford said suddenly. "Turn here!" In response to Arthur's curious look, he simply said, "I know a place."

Under Ford's instruction, the car lurched through a few more abrupt turns before coming to an even more abrupt halt. As they climbed out, Arthur looked around in confusion.

"Ford… This is a field."

"No-oo," his friend replied, drawing something out of his satchel with a flourish. "It's a field – with a towel."

The terrycloth material made a soft "fwump" as it was unfolded in midair and settled to the grass with only a few stray creases remaining. Ford sat on it and patted the space next to him, grinning.

"Sit."

Fighting the familiar instinct to cover his neck and back away, Arthur sat. He was about to ask _why_ they were in a field when Ford leaned close and wrapped an arm around his middle. Something, his vaguely befuddled brain was telling him, seemed off. Then it occurred to him:

"Ford, this isn't… a date, is it?"

The out-of-work actor (who was not, in fact, from Guilford, though it would be some time before Arthur understood the full significance of this) looked a little embarrassed. "Isn't it? I've been doing research. I thought I fulfilled all the requirements…"

"Oh, you did. As far as dates go, this was not outside the norm." Arthur paused. "'Cept, of course, I'm not a woman, obviously, so… well… I wasn't expecting this, you see, or I'd have said something earlier." Having said this, he marveled at both Ford's peculiar ignorance of normal social niceties and the fact that he himself had not yet attempted to dislodge the wayward arm.

Apparently Ford had noticed this too.

"Well," he began in a wheedling tone, "you don't really _mind_, do you? I mean, if it's been a good date, why spoil it worrying over the tiny, inconsequential detail of our both being male?"

Arthur's better judgment insisted that this argument didn't really make sense. Against his better judgment, Arthur decided to ignore his better judgment because he was actually having quite a nice time, and on some level Ford was right. Why waste a perfectly good evening? (Omitting the play. Though that mindless tedium _had_ helped make the evening afterward so enjoyable, so, really, it was all relative. Some months later, Arthur would come to the same conclusion regarding Vogon poetry and the subsequent life of anyone who survived being subjected to it.)

"All right," he said a tad nervously, "what happens now, then?"

"Well…"

Arthur found himself pinned between Ford and a towel, being kissed with surprising enthusiasm. Only it wasn't really surprising. In fact, he was just beginning to realize how very unsurprising it was. Nor was he scandalized, or even mildly alarmed, when he realized he was kissing back.

Perhaps it had something to do with the drinks he had consumed in the pub fiddling with the dials on his inhibitions – yes, it was probably that – but it was definitely an enjoyable experience. One that bore repeating, Arthur decided as Ford began to draw back, if only, he reasoned, to be absolutely sure. He wrapped his arms quickly around his friend's warm body and pulled him closer for another breathless kiss that somehow promised to lead to much more.

Above them the stars glowed silently through the curtain of atmosphere, and the universe in general sat back and enjoyed the midnight show.

* * *

_Ford seems to wants me to continue writing this. Arthur is blushing modestly -- which is pretty ambiguous if you ask me. Any thoughts? Opinions? Requests?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: **Contains slash

**Pairing: **Ford/Arthur

**Words:** 823

**Disclaimer:** Is it really necessary to point out that I am not Douglas Adams? Is that what people really need? (I'm not even English and I don't even look like a Douglas.)

I wrote part one of this fic _almost two years ago..._ and a lot of this part as well, and then couldn't figure out how to finish it. Way to go me. But hey, I finally managed to bang this out, didn't I? (Hur hur, bang. Welcome to the Big Bang Burger Bar... Hey radioverse kids, someone needs to write _that_ whydoncha.)

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**Midnight Show, part two  
**

* * *

As soon as the universe had settled comfortably back, it reconsidered and decided that it would have a better view if it sat forward instead. But either way, it was destined to remain unsatisfied for a while.

While Arthur Dent was making absolutely sure that he enjoyed kissing (and being kissed by) one Ford Prefect, in a field with a towel on a small blue-green planet called Earth, he was able to ignore something sharp digging into one of the arms he was using to hold Ford very tightly to him. When they paused for air, however, he was forced to take notice with an equally sharp "Ouch!"

"Mmm?" Ford asked lazily, rather disappointed at the interruption.

"There's something jabbing me…"

He smirked. "Yes, that _does_ happen."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are you secretly a teenager with a drinking problem and just haven't told me yet? It's something – ow, stop moving around, that's making it worse! I'll get it." He freed one arm (the other stayed wrapped around Ford, even though Ford clearly had no intention of going anywhere his hands couldn't) and tugged the offending object from Ford's jacket pocket, which had gotten twisted around in all the excitement. "It's an envelope!"

"Envelope?"

"Yes, it was the corner of it that was poking me."

"Ah."

Feeling this syllable was sufficient acknowledgement of the discovery, Ford was puzzled when Arthur didn't drop it and return to what they had been doing.

"Ford," said Arthur with equal an measure of puzzlement, "it has my name on it."

"Oh," Ford replied, in a tone that seemed to say something more like, _Oh, right, _that_ envelope._ "That's just my, er, research. You wouldn't find it very interesting, I think."

"Why does it have my name on it in your handwriting, then?"

"Well…"

Arthur smiled, apparently enjoying this rare moment uncertainty from Ford. "It's addressed to me, I want to see what it is."

Ford sighed and gave up, turning his attention to nuzzling Arthur's neck.

"If you like."

There was a pause, during which he thought for a moment that he may have avoided further (and, since it was Arthur, potentially awkward) distraction from much more enjoyable activities, but then he head him fumble with the envelope's unsealed flap and a selection of photographs hit the towel.

"_Ford_," Arthur gasped. This was mostly because of the nature of the photographs, but also partly due to the fact that Ford's teeth had just grazed very, very lightly over the skin of his neck. "These are… These are of me! Naked! In the shower! And… and… How the hell did you get these?!"

Ford hummed against his neck, almost, but not quite, sheepish. "I bought a camera and took them."

"You _what_?"

"You would rather I had someone else take them for me?" He propped himself up on his elbows with a smirk (and a silent _I'll see _you_ later_ to everything above Arthur's ribcage, and thank Zarquon for gravity and completely unsupported lower body weight). "I snuck into the bathroom a few times with a camera. You're the one who never locks the door."

"I beg your pardon," Arthur replied, blinking both indignantly and very fast. "I lock the door every time I'm in the bathroom!"

Ford's grin widened. "Perhaps, but when was the last time you checked to see if it actually works?"

"Bu— I— Not as often as you have, obviously!"

"Oh come on, don't be so uptight."

"_Uptight_? Ford, this is a terrible invasion of privacy!"

With his cheeks rapidly acquiring the color of a very bad sunburn, Arthur was beginning to feel more and more like a man who was _sober_ whilst lying in a strange field, and realizing that a good (if odd) male friend was pressing meaningfully against him from the waist down with an amused-but-hungry look. It was not a particularly enjoyable transformation, and even some of the more sensible parts of his brain were sorry to see it happen.

"I refuse," he further ventured to add, "to be tricked into a date with you, dragged out to the middle of nowhere, invited to _sit_ on a _towel_, suddenly kissed, _and_ accept that you've been taking inappropriate pictures of me without my consent. There's only so much a person can take in one evening."

Ford sighed. "I'm… sorry you feel that way, Arthur."

"You should be!" Arthur replied emphatically, not to mention frantically. "I was— We were— This is completely—"

"Arthur," Ford interrupted calmly. "Bear with me for a moment. I have a contingency plan for this sort of thing."

"You…" Arthur blinked up at him. Plans were good. He liked it when there were plans, when things had been mapped out and had a bare minimum of at least some sort of certainty. "What is it?"

With a winning, not to mention alarming smile, Ford stopped propping himself up on his elbows and let gravity do the rest.


End file.
